


Give and Take Chs.5-7

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8102758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: “It is a most mortifying thing for a man to consider what he has done, rather than what he should have done.” ©S.Johnson





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my LJ in 2008  
> 26 chapters  
> I am not a psychologist or psychiatrist and do not have a medical degree

                                                                                                      GIVE and TAKE

Ch.5 (Justin's POV)

 _“I’ve lived long enough to have learned the closer you get to the fire the more you get burned."_ _©B.Joel_  
  
       Even before the Dynamics craziness, something was off. I can't describe it. We were never on the same wavelength at the same time. Brian seemed preoccupied, like he was trying to figure out the origin of the universe or something. But despite his slight increase of weirdness, our dysfunctional relationship was functional. For us, anyway.  
  
       Then Babylon happened. Thanks to the generous tab of E he expertly deposited on my tongue, I only recall bits and pieces of the night, _certain_ bits and pieces. I do remember that we'd had a great time. We danced, drank, tweaked and fucked. Like I said, a great night. But he suggested we leave early. That's what I mean about weird.  
  
       When we got to the loft, he yanked the door open and marched in without a backward glance. Did he even care if I followed? He headed for the bathroom and I kicked off my shoes. My clothes suffocated me and I shed every piece, leaving a trail as I teetered to the kitchen for water. Enjoying my uninhibited nakedness, I was struggling to get the bottle to my mouth when he strode toward me and said he was going out. It took a minute for his words to register. Huh? I mean, _huh?_ Our evening wasn't supposed to end yet! We were supposed to fuck and shower, shower and fuck.  
  
       I aimed for the countertop, but the water bottle had a mind of its own and decided the floor would be a much better resting place. “Shit! I'm sorry!” I grabbed a handful of paper towels. Determined to prove how unlevel the loft was, Brian's protests to the contrary, the evil liquid slithered toward the four hundred dollar shoes, worn by the man standing in the kitchen, watching his 'whatever the fuck I was' clean up the mess. Was the whole world conspiring against me? “I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!” Even though I could barely concentrate, a thought niggled at my hazy brain. Why the fuck was I apologizing for accidentally spilling water?  
  
       He shook his head and smirked. “Don’t wait up, dear.” His mocking tone stung as the metal door clanged shut with a finality that made my heart ache.  
  
       In my defense, the E must have been some pharmaceutical strength crap. I can usually handle the drugs if I'm careful, but I was flying before I knew what hit me. Damn! I don’t know if I want to blame him or me for my higher reasoning button shutting off.  
  
                                        _“In my defense, what is there to say? All the mistakes I’ve made must be faced today._  
                                         _It’s not easy knowing where to start_ _while the world we love tears itself apart.”_ _©Clark/Soames_  
  
       He once said he liked to slip it to me while we were dancing because he could see it work, see my eyes glaze, feel my body heat. He certainly got his wish. The exhibitionist in him loved every minute, grinding his cock against mine, kneading my ass under my jeans. But then he disappeared and was nowhere in sight when everything went shit side up.  
  
       Alone on the dance floor, I was in my happy place as the music thumped through every pore and the beat pulsed messages to my cock—need to come, need to come. I wanted to jump out of my skin, but someone came behind me and grabbed my hips. Brian seemed to have a sixth sense about what I needed and when I needed it.  
  
       I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against his chest. With a hardness poking my ass and a hand snaking downward, I raised my arms and wrapped them around his neck. Two words escaped from the quicksand in my throat. “Fuck me.”  
  
       He whispered, “It’ll be a pleasure.”  
  
       I froze at the icy flash of sanity. This wasn't Brian. This was not Brian. This was not— But the logic didn’t last. It never does when I'm thinking with my dick. Good sense couldn’t compete with this stranger who guided me to the back room, his arm around my chest, brushing and hardening my nipples with every step. I was out of control and I didn't give a shit.  
  
       He led us to a vacant spot and held my wrists above my head with one hand while the other gripped my chin. Like a jungle cat lulling his prey into a false sense of security, he rubbed against me, teasing and licking my lips until I groaned and opened my mouth. He pulled back and as I gasped for air, I got a good look at him. He was hot...very hot...very, _very_ hot with dark blond hair. But it was his eyes. Intense. Piercing. They reminded me of Brian’s, like they could see into my soul.  
  
      “Like that?” His breath tickled my flesh.  
  
       I tried to speak but couldn't form the words. All I managed were throaty sighs and incoherent phrases.  
  
      “There’s more where that came from.” He bathed the inside of my ear with his tongue. I couldn't think straight.  
  
      “I’ve seen you with Kinney. A little old, isn’t he?”  
  
       God, he was going for the neck!  
  
      “From what I've seen, you're quite a handful. Can he keep up? Even the great Kinney has to slow down a little at his age.” His hand left my chin and crept under my shirt. “Does he come with you night after night? Or does he just suck you off because he has to wait? There’s no fucking way _I_ could slow down, especially with someone hot as you.”  
  
       Oh, fucking please! I couldn't breathe.  
  
      “This is just a taste of what I'd do to you. You'd come so much you'd beg me to stop but I'd make you come again. And again. And I'd come with you every fucking time. Know why? Because I can never get enough, and I have a feeling you can't either.” His words rattled my bones and turned them into jello. I couldn't stop shaking.  
  
       He sucked my neck _, hard_ , and shoved his knee between my legs. Blinded by a lust so potent, I arched into him. I didn’t care who was watching. I didn't care he wasn’t Brian. Nothing mattered other than the fire inside. Christ, do it already! Still holding my wrists, he jerked my zipper down and freed my aching cock. Yes! His warm fingers pulled and stroked. And everything blurred.  
  
                                           _“I know you recognize the shiver of surprise_ _when you realize_ _that he’s seen you.”_ _©_ _J.Hayward_  
  
       The spasms ripped through me like an earthquake. My hips jerked and I pumped into his hand. I gave him all of me, every last drop, and when there was nothing more to release, nothing more to surrender, a shameful heat seeped through me like a scarlet letter. I stared into unwavering, self-satisfied brown eyes as he raised his hand and licked his fingers clean. He smiled a knowing smile. “I was right.”  
  
       Desperate to return to reality, to Brian, I started tucking myself in, but he grabbed my hand.  
  
      “Let me do it,” he murmured and returned my traitorous cock to where it should have stayed in the first place, in my pants.

       I rushed past him, hoping to get away before I puked, but skidded to an abrupt stop. “What did you mean, ‘I was right’?”  
  
       His eyes drilled through me. “You and me? We're young and we're horny. No matter how cool Kinney thinks he is, his reign is almost finished. It’s time for some new blood, some young blood to take over.”  
  
       Before the throng on the dance floor swallowed him up, he called over his shoulder, “You know it, Taylor. You just have to admit it. Let me know when you're ready.”  
  
       Brian staggered in, reeking of booze and sex, and tumbled into bed. I turned on my side, wondering what to do, and tried not to cry.  
  
                                    " _One slip, and down the hole you go. It seems to take no time at all. An ordinary lapse of reason...” D.Gilmour_

_* * * *_

Ch.6 (The Warren Alpert Chronicles P.2)

                            **If you want to change your world, you must change your life. If you want to change your life, you must change your thinking.**

        Warren finished his ten o’clock session early and used the time to look over Laura’s preliminary report on his next patient. He flipped through the pages and frowned at the spotty information on Alex’s latest “good deed.” He was a sucker for hard luck cases.  
  
        The two of them had been good together, _really_ good, until they both realized they'd reached the end. Even with the inevitable sadness and loss, there were no hard feelings, no emo moments, no freak-outs. There was something to be said about getting involved with a shrink, especially if you were one as well. He’d been in relationships that tested him personally and professionally, and he was grateful they had stayed friends and colleagues.  
  
        A grin escaped. Laura’s inquisitive nature would never rest until she discovered their involvement. She had often hinted they would make a great-looking couple—he with his jet-black hair and tall physique in contrast to Alex's silver hair and medium build. If nothing else, it gave her an opportunity to hone her pseudo investigative skills. But after three years, she still hadn’t uncovered any news about them.  
  
        When she marched in, he looked up, surprised. “What’s the matter?”  
  
       “I could ask you the same question.” She tested the buttons on his phone. “Is your intercom broken?”  
  
       “Not as far as I know. Why?”  
  
       “Because I buzzed you twice and you didn’t answer.”  
  
       “I didn't notice. Sorry. I got caught up in reading.”  
  
        She glanced at the file on his desk. “Obviously. Just so you know, your 11 o’clock is here.”  
  
        He stood and grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair. As usual, she straightened his tie, smoothed the collar, and brushed off traces of lint. “There! Now you look presentable and professional.”  
  
       “Thanks, Ma. I never can dress without your help.” A quick jab to the ribs reminded him that she had grown up with four brothers. “Ouch!”  
  
       “Oh, please! Grow a pair, will you? Ready?”  
  
       “As ready as I will be. And call Alex. Tell him he owes me a dinner.”  
  
       “Will do.”  
  
       “Laura?”  
  
        She stopped halfway across the room and turned around.  
  
       “This is the flimsiest work-up I've ever seen.” He waved the two sheets of paper.  
  
       “I know. Alex sounded really tired. He gave the basics, and I filled in whatever I could find. I think you'll be flying by the seat of your pants with this one, Warren.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “And that’s not a suggestion for a new position. All set?”  
  
       “Yeah, go ahead.” He closed the file and buttoned his jacket.  
  
        There was a gentle knock at the door. “Come in.” He hurried across the room and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Warren Alpert.”  
  
        The person in the doorway avoided eye contact. He'd seen the look before in his practice—self-consciousness, futility, and hope. His job was to reduce the first, eliminate the second, and increase the third. “Please,come in.”

                                                                                                       * * * *

                                                                                Ch.7 (The Warren Alpert Chronicles P.3)

 _“When you’re down and troubled and you need a helping hand, just call out my name. You’ve got a friend.”_ _©C.King_        

        A few seconds passed before the man hesitantly shook his outstretched hand, the first step in healing if a person were willing to take it. He waved his arm. “Have a seat.”  
  
        He loved his office, thankful he had relinquished the decorating duties to Laura when he moved back to Pittsburgh and started his own practice. The British racing green on the walls, ebony wood tones and cordovan leather furniture resembled a serene gentlemen’s club. The atmosphere was what he had envisioned—an unthreatening environment to give those seeking help the freedom to open up.  
  
        Wary eyes darted around the room. “Any place special?”  
  
       “Nope, wherever you want, wherever you're comfortable.” He sat in his chair—thank God he bought the aerodynamic model—as his newest patient perched stiffly on the sofa like a bird poised for flight. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea? Something stronger?”  
  
       “I don’t think you have what I need.”  
  
        The awkward silence that usually prefaced the first meeting hung heavily in the air. Success or failure was often decided in these crucial moments. Fingers steepled under his chin, he took mental notes, cataloging the rigid posture and furtive glances that appeared to assess the merits of the session and him.  
  
       “So, is this where I tell you my innermost feelings and secrets and you tell me what to do?”  
  
        He caught the subtle edge. “Only those you’re comfortable telling.”  
  
       “Then we might as well end this now because I’m not comfortable with any of this.”  
  
       “You’re here, aren’t you? You came, didn’t you? It takes courage to take the first step, to admit there might be a problem in your life you don’t know how to handle.”  
  
       “I don’t have a problem,” the man snapped without hesitation. There was a pause and when he spoke again, a slight catch of uncertainty tinged his voice. “I just have some questions that I need answered.”  
  
       “Well, it’s not my job to give you the answers. It’s—”  
  
        His skittish referral jumped to his feet and glared. “Then why am I here, wasting my time and yours if—”  
  
       “Sit down, please.” He kept his voice calm and stayed in his chair. He couldn't risk making the situation worse with an equally aggressive attitude. Christ, Alex owed him _two_ dinners.  
  
        The man threw him a defiant stare and opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed to change his mind. Instead, he slumped back down on the sofa with a huff and drummed his fingers on the leather arm.  
  
       “You didn’t let me finish.” He was ready for him in this logics debate. “I was going to say that my job is to help you find your own answers. It would defeat the purpose if I just told you what was wrong and how to fix it. You have to understand the reason for the problem, what brought you here in the first place, before you can repair it.”  
  
        He took a deep breath. “It’s like learning math. The teacher wrote the hard and fast rules for different equations on the board, and every kid dutifully copied them in a notebook. At least some did.” He grinned and added, “I wasn't one of them. Anyway, everyone memorized those cardinal rules, yet many couldn’t do certain problem-solving questions on a test because they didn't know the basics, the foundation of _why_ they were using a particular equation. When it wasn’t presented in the ABC order they had learned, they were lost and couldn’t figure it out. It’s the same premise here. If you don’t understand the _why_ of the problem, the situation will continue to perpetuate itself. Does that make any sense at all?”  
  
       “I suppose” was the grudging answer. “But it would be easier and faster my way.”  
  
       “Easier, yes, but I wouldn’t be helping you. Faster? That too, but then I wouldn’t be able to collect your money for other visits. I still have to pay for this place.”  
  
        He was rewarded with a pencil-thin smile. Maybe they’d been able to get past the first hurdle, trust. “Now, you’ve paid an astronomical fee for nothing, could you at least give me a clue as to what ‘questions’ you have?” He raised his hand. “I know. They’re not ‘problems.’”  
  
        Seconds turned into minutes, the silence this time thicker, like a pea soup fog. Should he give him time to mull over what he said? Everyone was different. Some needed a longer period to open up. He was about to suggest they end the session early when—  
  
        It wasn’t an admission of defeat. It wasn’t a sign of weakness. It was an appeal for help, barely a whisper, yet loud as a shout. _"I feel like I’m losing him and I don’t know how to stop it.”_  
  
       “Who?”

                                                                        **Look in the mirror to see the truth that eludes you.**

* * * *

 **CONTINUE HERE:** **<http://archiveofourown.org/works/8227378> **

 


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